


touch me and then turn away

by greeneyedstranger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyedstranger/pseuds/greeneyedstranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Harry has come to Louis with tears in his eyes and five times Louis gives Harry everything he possibly can to make all of them go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch me and then turn away

**Author's Note:**

> basically this was formed by my aggressively fond love for kid!larry and kind of bloomed into a thing. whatever this is.
> 
> anyway, this fic is for the lovely bella, who likes sweaters and cuddles and is also not the biggest fan of hamsters.
> 
> title taken from "hanging on" by ellie goulding.

Louis has never really thought much of sweaters. What’s there to think, really? Sweaters are soft and cozy and made of cotton and are meant to be worn when it’s chilly outside so you don’t catch a cold. They come in different colors and sizes and Louis’s mum buys loads of new ones every year around the time when the leaves on all the trees outside turn crispy and brown in color and fall off, dotting the ground and making crunchy sounds whenever Louis steps on them with his big boy trainers when he walks home from school every day, holding his mum’s hand.

Louis never, ever thought a sweater would introduce him to his new best friend.

It’s a particularly cool day in the middle of September, and Louis is in year one and he’s practically an adult so he’s allowed to play on the blacktop instead of having to stay near the playground like all the babies. Louis is loud and playful and his mum calls him “a bundle of never-ending energy” and he has no idea what it means but that’s okay. He has a bunch of mates and they play footie on the blacktop and Louis is good, really good. He likes the awed looks on the other boys’ faces when he scores goal after goal effortlessly. Of course, there’s no goalie and the “goal” is basically a collection of shrubs near the edge of the blacktop, but still. Louis is good.

“I’m better than all of you,” he tells them as he kicks the ball into the shrubs once again in succession.

They all nod in agreement. One of them sniffles loudly like he’s about to cry. Louis smiles to himself – crying is for babies, and he’s not a baby. He’s six entire years old. He doesn’t cry.

Louis scampers off towards the shrubs to retrieve the ball, starting to sweat under his chestnut fringe swept across his forehead. He’s wearing a giant green sweater over his favorite SpongeBob shirt that his mum _forced_ him to wear, a bit unfair really, but he’s a big boy so he knows how to follow the rules. 

As he searches through the shrubs for his ball, a small noise catches his ear. Almost like a little snuffling sound.

“Who’s there?” Louis says bravely, digging deeper into the shrub to find the source. Louis is nothing if not brave. 

“Me,” a tiny, shaking voice answers. 

Louis squints as he peers through the leaves. “I’m Louis William Tomlinson and I’m six,” he introduces proudly. “Who are you?”

He sees someone then, hidden in the shrub. A boy. A little, pudgy boy, who’s curled up into a ball and hiding his face into his thighs, which are pressed against his chin. He’s wedged between the tall chain link fence bordering the entire school and the shrubs.

“Harry,” the boy says, his voice muffled against the material of his pants. His shoulders are going up and down, and he’s making little huffy sounds. “I’m four.”

“Why’re you crying?” Louis inquires, crawling over to the boy and sitting next to him, resting his feet up against the fence. “Big boys don’t _cry._ Crying is for babies.”

Harry sniffs loudly and squeaks, “M’cold.”

“Cold?” Louis repeats incredulously.

“Yeah.” Harry peeks up from behind his legs. Louis sees that he has big, big eyes that are a pretty bright green that remind him of the necklace his mum always wears around her neck. Harry’s got a wild, unruly mop of brown curls atop his head that toss about in the slight breeze, and Louis wants to pet them. So he does. Harry’s eyes only widen more.

“I left my coat inside,” Harry says quietly, blinking at Louis through his tear-filled eyes as Louis continues to pet his hair. “And I tried to go back in when it started to get cold. But I got lost, and now I’m here and I don’t know what to do!” 

“Oh,” Louis says as Harry bursts into fresh sobs. “You’re in reception. You must belong at the playground, then, with the rest of the babies.”

Harry only wails harder.

Louis sighs and thinks for a moment. Harry looks sad, and even though he’s a baby and Louis is a big kid and shouldn’t be talking to him, he does feel sort of bad. His mum told him to always be a gentleman and help people out whenever he could, because that would make him “mature.”

Louis tugs off his giant sweater and gives it to Harry. “You can have mine,” he says kindly. He knows to always act kind with children, because his sister Lottie is three and starts screaming whenever he isn’t kind to her. He hopes Harry won’t start screaming.

“Thank you very much,” Harry says in his politest voice, rubbing his pink, fat fists into his wet eyes and Louis feels a tinge of displeasure – politeness is for big kids, not babies like Harry who cry in the bushes during playtime. His anger melts when Harry smiles sweetly at him and grabs at the soft sweater and tries to tug it on. His head accidentally slips through one of the arm holes, and Louis watches patiently as Harry fumbles around with it, eventually getting a leg through the hole meant for his head and bawling loudly as he kicks around uselessly.

Louis gently helps Harry slip on his sweater, petting his hair to calm him down, and Harry does. Once they’re done, the sweater hangs down to Harry’s knees, swallowing him up, and Louis thinks he looks cute.

“You look cute,” Louis says.

Harry flushes the color of roses. “Will you pet my hair again?” he asks shyly.

Louis pets it. Harry curls into him. They stay in the shrubs for the rest of recess.

-

Harry becomes Louis’s. Louis becomes Harry’s.

They grow inseparable over the rest of the school year, hiding in the shrubs during recess and giggling and poking at each other and talking about the other kids. Harry is a bumbly little baby with squishy cheeks and wide eyes and Louis is starting to adore him. Harry thinks Louis is the most wonderful person in the entire world. He follows him around whenever he can, a thumb wedged between his two pink lips and his eyes the size of golf balls as Louis skips around and uses big words and memorizes all the words to Harry’s favorite songs and sings to him.

Harry lives four houses down from Louis and they walk home together from school every day. Louis will stuff his hands into the pockets of his jeans and Harry will clutch at the straps on his Thomas the Train backpack, stumbling over his feet as he tries to match his strides with Louis. On one day near the end of January, Louis tries to race Harry to his house so they can munch on some of his mum’s warm cookies and cake with a cool glass of milk and Harry trips and falls headfirst into a pile of snow and starts to shriek.

From that day on, they hold hands. Harry swings their interlocked fingers as they walk. Louis doesn’t mind. 

-

Louis is in year three and he’s at the dining table, doing his maths homework. He’s big enough now to get real homework, like actual worksheets and such, and he locks himself in his bedroom so none of his silly sisters will bother him. He’s been in a grumpy mood lately, mostly because he and Harry are having a fight.

The school they go to have an official pet hamster, a fat little thing named Bubbles, who lives in a cage in the principal’s office, and every year a lucky student gets to take Bubbles home for a month and take care of him. Only the smartest, most well behaved students get chosen to take Bubbles, and the kid who gets picked gets a ton of new friends and attention as well as the few jealous people who just won’t admit it, but mostly friends.

Louis studied extra hard and raised his hand to speak in class and refrained from punching this dumb kid named Nick Grimshaw in the face for an entire two weeks (because Nick keeps calling him “gay”, whatever that means, and Greg, Niall’s older brother, tells him it basically means girly and weak and dumb when Louis asks Niall to ask him. Louis will not stand for that) just so he could be chosen to take Bubbles. Louis’s mum keeps calling him immature and bratty and he wanted to show her how mature he was by taking care of an actual hamster.

The day came. All the students assembled in the auditorium. Louis searched for a small head of puffy curls amongst the crowd, near the year one students, and when a bright green pair of eyes met his, Louis waved. Harry’s wide teeth flashed in a delighted smile as he stood on his toes to wave back.

“Who’re you wavin’ at?” Zayn asked Louis. Niall was on his other side. 

“My friend,” Louis said, automatically slipping into a defensive tone.

“The little baby up front?” Zayn snorted. “He looks weird.”

“Shut up,” Louis snarled. Zayn rolled his eyes.

The principal went onstage and addressed the students. They’d gone through all the usual announcements and Louis ignored them, until it was time. Bubbles was sure to be his.

 

“The brilliant student who gets to take our Bubbles home is…”

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Louis cheered under his breath, praying.

“Harry Edward Styles!” The principal had said. 

Well.

Louis averted his eyes as a giggly, blushing Harry had jumped onto the stage, ignoring the way his heart panged slightly with worry as Harry tripped over the top step and nearly fell straight onto his face, catching himself on his hands at the last minute. He was too mad. 

Harry had searched the crowd from up on the stage, squinting, trying to find his Louis, hoping he had seen him win. Louis scowled at him, crossing his arms. Harry just beamed and waved.

Louis has not spoken to Harry since that day, and as much as it hurt him to be away from his favorite boy in the whole world, it hurt more to not have Bubbles. Harry was just a dumb baby, he didn’t know how to take care of a hamster.

Louis is on his tenth multiplication problem when the door to his bedroom flies open and hits the wall with a bang and Harry comes bustling in.

“Harry!” he shouts. “What’re…”

His next words are cut off as Harry flings himself at him, knocking him over back onto the pillows. Louis stares in alarm as the little boy scrambles into Louis’s lap, hooking his legs around his waist and burying his face into his chest.

“Harry, get off!” Louis says, not really meaning it. He tries to pry Harry off him. Harry screams in protest. Louis quickly halts his efforts.

“Oh, Lou,” Harry whispers. “S’all my fault, all my fault!”

“What’s all your fault? Geddup.” Louis gently pulls Harry’s head back from his chest, inspecting his chubby face, stricken with sadness. Hesitantly, Louis starts to stroke at Harry’s curls with the pads of his fingers, trying to calm him down. Harry’s eyes roll back into his head a little.

“Bubbles,” Harry whispers.

_“Bubbles?”_

“Bubbles… _died._ ” Harry says sadly. “She...she…think I maybe wasn’t feeding her enough…or too much, I dunno…but the next day she was sleeping and…she didn’t wake up and…and then she was dead!”

 

Louis is suddenly furious. “You dumb little baby,” he snarls, pushing Harry off of him roughly. Harry rolls off the bed and hits the carpet with a low thud. “You killed Bubbles? You _killed_ her? You’re so stupid! You’re such a stupid little baby!”

Harry blinks up at Louis through impossibly large eyes, his lower lip trembling.

“I knew it should’ve never been you! You’re not smart or mature enough to have your own hamster! You can’t even tie your own shoelaces by yourself! You’re a dummy!” Louis shouts, burying his face in his hands.

Neither of them says anything for a while. Louis fumes in silence until he hears a faint sob from somewhere underneath him, and his mind immediately goes into overdrive. “Harry?” he asks.

He looks over the edge of the bed. Harry is nowhere in sight. “Harry,” he calls. “Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. Harold, Haz, Harry…”

“Go away,” a muffled voice comes from under the bed. 

“Come out,” Louis says.

“No.”

Louis sighs, suddenly getting an idea. He grabs a white sweater that is laying on the ground and crawls under the bed to join Harry, who is crying. Of course.

“Put this on,” Louis says.

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. “I’m sorry I called you a dummy and a baby and stupid and all those mean things. That wasn’t very nice of me. I’m sorry, Harry. You know I think you’re absolutely wonderful, and I love you lots and lots.”

“You l-love me?” Harry sniffles curiously, staring at Louis through moon eyes.

“Forever,” Louis promises.

“Well, I love you forever, too,” Harry says firmly.

A few minutes later, Harry’s cuddled up against Louis under his bed, with his large sweater slipped over his head and Louis’s hands in his hair while Harry gurgles happily against Louis’s neck.

They have a funeral and a proper burial for Bubbles that weekend. Harry’s parents and sister and Louis’s parents and sisters all crowd around a small spot of dirt near the edge of the wooded area near their neighborhood. They all pray for Bubbles to be happy in heaven wherever she is, and Harry sniffles loudly and even Louis’s eyes swim a bit.

When Harry’s hand reaches towards Louis’s and their fingers intertwine, no one says anything.

-

The years trickle by. Louis and Harry are still each other’s. They spend the nights whispering secrets into each other’s ears and Harry learns how to bake and he brings Louis cupcakes and cookies every week. Louis rewards him with a huge, sloppy kiss to his forehead and Harry beams with pure joy and they still hold hands when they walk to school in the mornings and it’s instinctive, it’s not a big deal at all.

-

It’s three in the morning and snowing outside when Harry calls.

Louis jolts up from his bed, a low curse word slipping from his mouth as his phone continues to shriek in the darkness. “Jesus,” he grumbles as he stumbles over to his desk where his phone is buzzing urgently. “Whossit?” he slurs.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry’s voice comes shakily through the speaker.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, instantly alert. “Harry, it’s three in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “I know.”

“What…happened?”

“He left.” Harry laughs, almost incredulously. “He just left.”

“Wh- your dad.” Louis whispers as the realization hits him. Harry’s dad and mum had been fighting, almost for an entire year now, and it’d been too much for a thirteen year old Harry to handle. Louis found himself comforting the boy a lot more than normal, wiping away countless tears and offering as many hugs as he could. 

“Yep,” Harry replies. They’re both quiet for a minute.

“I’ll be right over,” Louis says automatically.

Louis shows up at Harry’s with a sweater slung over his shoulder and snowflakes embedded in his hair, his heart pounding with worry because he _knows_ , he knows how sensitive Harry is and how even the smallest thing can have a massive impact on him. Something this big, it can’t be good. He hasn’t missed how Harry shows up to class every morning with dark circles under his eyes and his skin all pinched looking, like he’d been crying for a while. 

When Harry opens the door, he’s standing there in nothing but a pair of ratty old sweatpants with a fist rubbing at his eye, squinting at Louis through his mop of curly hair hanging in his eyes. Louis gulps, quickly tearing his eyes away from the sight of the boy’s bare chest. Harry wasn’t a kid anymore – he was thirteen and had lost most of his baby fat, and was slowly growing longer and leaner, becoming a teenager. Though Louis was fifteen, he knew Harry was soon going to overtake him soon in height. And this was _Harry_. He couldn’t just _ogle_ him like that. That wasn’t normal.

“Hey,” Louis says quietly, his voice swallowed by the chilly breeze in the air. “Where’s your mum?”

“Sleeping,” Harry answers, his voice cracking. His arms hang uselessly by his sides. “Dad left a few hours ago.”

“Oh, God, Harry.” Louis gathers the younger boy into his arms, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down the bumps in his spine. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Once Harry is properly swaddled up in Louis’s sweater and curled into Louis’s side on his small twin bed in his room, he starts to talk. “He…I don’t know. He came home acting all weird, think he was drunk. Something like that. And Mum just kinda…started yelling. About how he was a bad influence or something. And he got mad, and they threw things…” Harry hiccups.

Louis hums, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s getting too long and starting to flop into his eyes, obstructing the mossy green pupils from view. “That’s how it was with my dad.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Harry says shakily, nuzzling his face closer into Louis’s chest. Louis has to take a deep breath. “Where he’s gonna go, when he’s coming back…if he comes back.”

“Harry, listen to me. Look at me.” Louis gently touches Harry’s chin, raising it so Harry is looking directly into Louis’s cerulean colored eyes. “Your mum and dad are fighting, because they’re having some disagreements with how they want to live. That’s all. It doesn’t affect how he feels towards you or Gemma at all, yeah? He loves you both to death, and he won’t ever _stop_ loving you.” Louis has no idea if what he’s saying is making any sense but his boy is crying and that’s really all that matters. “As crazy and awful and horrid as it may seem, your parents might be better off like this. Maybe they’ll be happier without all the fighting. We’ll never know. For now, we just have to wait and see.”

Harry’s eyes have slowly drifted closed during the length of Louis’s little inspiring speech, and his body is more pliant, warmer and relaxed, slotting perfectly against Louis’s. How many times have they fallen asleep like this, coddled in each other’s arms, so secure and safe? Louis can’t even count. 

Harry stirs, and he mumbles a quiet, “Will you wait with me?” against Louis’s neck.

Louis inhales sharply and doesn’t answer. Harry falls asleep.

-

Harry is a deep wound – he doesn’t recover easily. He takes lots of care and tending to, painkillers and bandages and rest and strength until he can be restored to normal. Louis is extra gentle with him for the next few weeks, squeezing his hand whenever they find time to meet up between classes and hugging him extra tight, almost making sure to rub his hair, because that’s what soothes him most. And that’s the thing, though – Louis can map out every weakness in Harry’s brain and he knows how to treat him just right so he never stops smiling. 

For the first few days, Harry is dark and brooding. He doesn’t speak much and the dimples in his cheeks have not made an appearance since That Night. Louis is bright as usual, skipping along and swinging their intertwined hands as they walk to secondary school, telling jokes about his sisters and making fun of their teachers and trying his very, very best. By the time they’ve reached school, Harry’s face has restored some of its color and the shadow of a dimple dances along his skin.

Harry clings to Louis like a fragrance to a rose, always shuffling along behind him with his nose almost touching Louis’s shoulder. He sits with Louis, Zayn, and Niall at lunch, and Harry’s friend Liam joins them as they all throw food at each other in the schoolyard. The three boys look dubious when they see Harry clutching Louis’s arm like a vice and when Louis rubs his thumbs along the inside of Harry’s thigh, but they don’t say anything.

Eventually, Harry starts smiling again, a little more each day, and the five of them grow closer and Harry’s cheeks have gone back to being pink and glowing and dimpled and Louis could have cried of joy.

Harry smiles at Louis the most. Louis pretends not to notice. 

-

Louis is seventeen when he discovers that he likes boys.

His girlfriend, Hannah, is everything perfect – she’s cute, she smells nice, she’s absolutely hilarious, she’s playful, she’s as obsessed with footie as he is, and she knows how to give him good advice when he needs some. Harry had known her before Louis and set them up in the beginning, absolutely gleeful when Louis asked her out for the first time.

“You’re both gonna be so great, Lou,” he’d cheered that day in Louis’s bedroom, all fifteen year old joy and charm. His hair has been tamed from the unruly mop of curls pointing in all directions to a more sophisticated fringe that Louis had to admit looked…well, it looked nice. His opal eyes had been absolutely aglow, like he’d never been happier in his life than in that moment. “I know it.”

“Yeah, c’mere, you cheesy twat.” And Louis had pulled that boy into a tight hug, ruffling his hair while Harry giggled stupidly into his neck and Louis wondered what the hell he’d do without him.

Another thing Hannah happened to be was observant. She never missed how Louis would always be on his phone during their dates, a goofy grin lighting up his face as he continuously sent text after text to Harry. She never missed how Louis didn’t shut up about him for a single moment (“Harry passed his maths test today with full marks for the first time, isn’t that great?” “I’m taking Harry to the amusement park this weekend; the idiot’s never ridden a roller coaster before. Gonna show him a good time.” “Harry’s thinking of adopting a puppy. If he does, he’s gonna name it Fred. Of course, I wanted something funny like ‘Gob Shite’ or summat, but Harry isn’t going for it. Prat.”). And most of all, she never missed that Louis really wasn’t interested in her as anything but a really good friend.

“Louis, you’re absolutely amazing,” she’d said. “And I like you a lot, and I’d love to do all sorts of things with you. But the thing is…I’m not quite sure you’d want to do the same with me, is the thing.”

Louis tries to apologize, but Hannah doesn’t let him. “Louis, are you kidding yourself?”

“What?” he asks.

“You know why we can’t be together, right?”

Louis just stares. He doesn’t.

“I think you’re in love with someone else,” Hannah says gently, her eyes wide and nothing but sincere. “And I think that someone is Harry.”

“Harry?” Louis sputters. “I…Harry? Come on, don’t be silly.”

“I see the way you look at him, Louis.” Hannah’s voice is so, so kind and understanding and it hurts. “You look at him like he’s some kind of shooting star. Like he’s a miracle. And he is, Louis. He’s your miracle, and he needs to know that. What you two have is absolutely beautiful.”

Louis doesn’t say or do anything but thank her quietly.

They’d broken up, with no drama and no fuss, and promised to stay great friends, which they did. When Louis told Harry, Harry had been all wide-eyed and pouty, afraid that Louis would be hurt or heartbroken in some kind of way, but Louis just gave him a thump to the back of the head and challenged him to a round of FIFA. Harry’s answering smile had been worth all of it.

It’d been just the two of them for a while, like it was supposed to be – Harry and Louis, Louis and Harry. They were a part of each other. They knew each and every crevice of each other’s minds, every pore of each other’s body, every trigger, every emotion, every thought. They owned each other, almost _orbited_ around each other, a planet and its moon. Everything was alright for a while. Until it happens.

Harry meets a girl. She’s tall and skinny as a pole and has dirty blond hair and legs that go on for miles and miles. He says her name is Cara. Cara starts coming up in all their daily conversations. _Cara smells like strawberry smoothies. Cara has a pet hamster…oh my God, remember Bubbles, Lou? Cara wants to be a model when she grows up. Cara says she thinks I have pretty eyes, how silly is that._

 _You have the prettiest eyes on the entire planet, prettier than the sun and the moon and all the stars combined._ Louis wants to say. He never does.

Cara is in Harry’s year at school so they see each other more often than Louis gets to see Harry, and he starts seeing less of him every day. Louis sees them holding hands in the hallway one day, about two weeks after they became a “thing”, and Harry’s face is a shy pink and his eyes keep darting around nervously, but he’s holding her hand tight as ever, and Cara looks dainty and pretty by his side, barely as tall as his shoulder (Harry’s almost 5’10” now and Louis has no idea when that happened) and their bodies are close together and people are looking back at them enviously, easily the most attractive couple at school.

Louis swallows his heart, which has risen to the top of his throat in his dismay, and tries not to think of the times they always used to hold hands and Harry would squeeze his fingers every now and then, like each squeeze was a shot of comfort injected into his veins. 

And that’s when he realizes that he is in love with Harry.

-

“Did you listen to it?”

“Listen to what?” Louis asks. He and Harry are in Louis’s living room, watching The X Factor on the telly sharing a duvet with their legs tangled together underneath. Louis’s mum and his sisters are out.

“The playlist I made you.” Harry turns to look at Louis out of the corner of his eye. He’s wearing a gray beanie over his soft brown curls, his eyes wide and curious. “Do you remember? The Smiths, Neutral Milk Hotel, Oasis…”

“Harry, if there’s one bad thing about you, it’s your taste in music.” Louis shakes his head sadly. “I can’t stand those bloody indie bands you listen to and I have no idea why you keep making me playlists…”

Harry pouts exaggeratedly with his giant, stupidly endearing pink lips. “You don’t like me?” he asks sadly, blinking rapidly and trailing a finger down his cheek, imitating a teardrop. _Bastard._

“I said no such thing. Has anyone ever told you you’re a complete fucking idiot?” Louis flicks a barbeque crisp at Harry. It smacks him in the cheek, and Harry picks it up and pops it straight into his mouth. Louis tries not to stare at the smooth motion of Harry’s jawline as he chews.

“Cara says that all the time,” Harry points out, eyes fixed on the TV. Oh.

“I’m sure she does,” Louis grumbles, huffing in distaste.

Harry turns to look at him again. “What’s wrong, Lou?” he asks, so innocent and filled with genuine concern and Louis can’t bear it.

“Nothing, Haz. Quit your worrying and let’s watch this prick gets his arse booted clean off the stage.” Louis gestures to the show, where some bloke is mouthing off to the judge, just asking to be slapped. 

Harry giggles and they do just that.

The thing is, Louis can’t tell Harry what’s wrong because he himself doesn’t know.

Harry and Louis are in the middle of an intense crisp war, flinging handfuls of them at each other and yelling and kicking at each other’s faces, when Louis suddenly lets out a playful roar and lunges at Harry, knocking him over and onto his back. Harry flails underneath him, squealing like a little girl as Louis digs his fingers into the sides of his torso, causing them both to break out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“Mercy!” Harry begs. “Please! Mercy!”

“I’ll get you yet, you little bugger,” Louis promises, baring his teeth at Harry, who giggles even more.

And all of a sudden, it’s different. It’s changing, the air around them. Louis is hovering just inches from Harry’s face, his nose nearly grazing his, their lips only separated by their laughter being released into the air. Harry’s eyes are shining and his cheeks are the color of pink, pink roses and he smells like shampoo, tangerines, and fresh cotton. He’s looking up at Louis with a look that can only be described as pure adoration, eyes blown and innocent, only widening further as Louis lifts a single finger to Harry’s cheek, pressing into the dimple softly.

 _I love you_ , Louis thinks. _I’m in love with you._

A phone rings.

Harry groans and aims one last kick at Louis, who shrieks with surprise and rolls away, ninja-style, much to Harry’s utter amusement, and he’s laughing crazily when he answers the phone. Louis’s face must be red.

“Hello!” Harry says cheerily. He listens for a moment, and his face falls. “Babe.”

 _Babe._ Louis, still in his Harry-induced daze, stares as he slowly sits up, dusting crumbs off of his clothes. Harry calls her “babe” now. This is news.

“Yeah…yeah, I…” Harry squeezes his eyes shut and grounds the heel of his hand against his forehead in agitation. “I’m so fucking _sorry,_ I completely forgot.”

Louis just watches as Harry’s free hand slowly worms up towards his other wrist. He grabs the skin there with his fingers and _pinches_ , so hard the skin turns red and he cringes but doesn’t let go. 

Louis curses under his breath, knowing that Harry always does this whenever he’s so indescribably furious about something he doesn’t know how to let it out in words. It’s always scared Louis, the fact that Harry hurts himself like that so willingly.

Louis crawls over to Harry and gently pries his fingers away from his wrist. It takes some effort, but Harry finally lets go, exhaling as Louis rubs soothing circles into the red flesh with the pads of his thumbs. “Yeah, I’m with him,” Harry says quietly.

Louis freezes. _They’re talking about me._

“God, I’m…I’m coming. I’ll be there in five minutes. Just.” Harry hangs up and springs to his feet so quickly Louis nearly gets whiplash watching him. 

“Harry!” he yells after Harry, who has run to the front door to get his shoes. “What the hell happened?”

“I forgot to meet up with Cara at the park, _fuck,_ ” Harry growls, hastily lacing up his sneakers so fast his fingers keep getting tangled up in the laces. “God fucking _damn_ it!”

“Hey,” Louis snaps, kneeling down in front of Harry, who’s sat on the bottom step of the stairs with his fists ground in his eyes. “Calm.” He struggles to keep his voice soft and as soothing as possible, when really all he wants to do is yell about how Harry had never, ever been this stressed and angry before he met this random blond twig bitch. Instead, he starts to do up Harry’s laces for him, making sure to double knot them so Harry doesn’t trip and end up flying through the air into some kind of ditch in his haste to get to wherever the hell he needs to go.

“She’s going to kill me,” Harry moans, his shoulders heaving as he pants for breath. “This is the third time in two weeks I’ve completely forgotten about her because of…” his voice trails off, and he looks up guiltily at Louis, who’s just finished Harry’s laces and is staring evenly back at the younger boy.

“Because of me. Right,” Louis sighs. “D’you want me to drive you?”

“No, thank you.” Harry echoes Louis’s sigh before he sprints out the front door, leaving Louis at the foot up the stairs with bits of crisps in his hair and his mind swirling with only thoughts of _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou._

-

When Harry comes back, around eleven in the night, Louis is trying to sleep. The room is submerged in darkness when Louis feels the bed dip next to him and a warm body roll in, snuggling up to his side instantly. Harry sighs as he rests his head on Louis’s collarbone, wrapping a leg around his waist, and it’s so familiar, so instinctive.

“So she didn’t kill you?” Louis jokes, gently pulling on a few of Harry’s curls with his fingers. “Things must be looking up.”

“S’not funny, Lou,” Harry grumbles. “She was right pissed. Beyond pissed, actually.”

“Sod her,” Louis mutters. Harry kicks him in the shin.

“Be nice,” Harry says. “Please.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “So what’s the verdict? You showed up, she screamed until she got it all out of her system, then you kissed and made up. Am I right?”

“I suppose,” Harry hedges. 

“Then there’s no problem!” Louis says happily, nudging his cheek against Harry’s curls once. 

“Everything’s going to be absolutely chipper and dandy. Okay?”

Harry nods, tightening an arm around Louis’s waist and going completely pliant, and Louis feels it again. That same tension he’d experienced only hours ago. Louis bites his lip, thinking.

_Now’s a better time than any. Tell him._

Louis is ready. He’d been thinking about it for so long now, and he realizes that Harry is too much of an idiot to figure out anything by himself, so Louis will have to tell him word by word eventually. And it’s scary, because all they’d been all their lives were best mates. They walked to school together, had sleepovers in each other’s beds, whispered secrets into each other’s ears and held hands in crowds. But that was it; that was the line. The mere thought of being anything but that is terrifying and new and Louis isn’t used to _new._ He’s used to large sweaters and chubby fingers interlaced with his and skipping feet racing against his on the sidewalk and sharing cups of warm cocoa when it was chilly outside. He’s used to _safe_. 

He gathers up every last ounce of strength he has, clenches his hands into fists, opens his mouth to speak, when Harry mutters something against Louis’s skin.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Louis informs him, deflating from his sudden burst of energy.

Harry takes a deep breath. “It’s silly.”

“Nothing’s too silly for me, Harold.”

“No, that’s not the right word.” Harry sounds agitated, clenching his fists in Louis’s t-shirt. “Stupid’s more like it. Stupid. Like, crazy stupid. The stupidest kind of stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s so dumb.”

“Spit it out before I kick you in the _balls…_ ”

“She told me I had to stay away from you.”

There’s a pungent silence hanging in the air between them. All Louis can hear is Harry’s even breathing and the thump of his heartbeat against his chest. He knows he should say something, anything, but he can’t remember how to speak. He waits for Harry to say that he’s just joking, that he’d never do anything like that at all. Harry doesn’t.

“And I presume you didn’t tell her to fuck off?” is the first thing Louis can think to say.

“I couldn’t.” Harry’s voice is small. “She said that if we wanted to get serious, I couldn’t keep, like, y’know, ditching her and…”

“Harry, are you aware of how dumb you sound?” Louis says with a laugh, shifting so he was sitting up on his elbows. Harry flopped back onto the pillow, staring blankly down at the mattress. Louis tries to feel surprised, or outraged, or something, but the sad thing is…he saw this coming. He knew this would happen. Hell, he was waiting for it.

“Louis, I…I think she may be it. Y’know, _the one_. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and…I don’t want to lose her.” Harry’s barely whispering now. “I might even love her.”

“You’ve been dating for two months.” Louis can’t fight the ice in his tone, because _no, no, no,_ it’s not supposed to be her. It was never supposed to be her. “She yells at you all the time, you’re always so stressed out about her…” 

“Fuck, Louis. We are not doing this.” Harry sits up suddenly, staring down at Louis, who has his eyebrows raised. “We are not fighting over this. I know what I want.”

“Harry.” Suddenly Louis finds this whole situation very funny, and he can’t contain his hysterical giggles. “Harry, you’re fifteen. You’re in _secondary school_. You can’t even choose what you want to eat for lunch each day, how are you supposed to choose the one you want to be with for the rest of your bloody life? You’re being dumb.” Louis is trying to be a sensible, supportive best mate. “Really, really dumb, actually.” Louis isn’t doing a good job. He’s about to cry.

“Okay.” Harry’s voice is just as icy. “Okay, I’m being dumb. At least I _have_ someone who loves me as much as I love them. You don’t have _anyone!_ You won’t even give anyone a chance because you’re so fucking scared of rejection. You’re scared of everything. At least I’m not that. At least I’m not _you,_ Louis.”

Louis freezes. Harry’s words have punched him right in the throat, knocking all the breath out of him.

Harry gasps then, realizing what he’d just said. “Louis.”

Louis smirks, trying to keep his voice level. “You can leave, y’know. You have all the right in the world to leave. There’s nothing holding you here right now.”

“No…oh, God, I-” Harry whimpers. 

“Please, Harry. Don’t want poor Cara feeling insecure about your relationship, do we? She’s the _one,_ anyway.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Harry’s spitting out a quick, “Fuck you, Louis” and hopping out of his bed, striding out the door and slamming it behind him, so hard something falls off Louis’s chair and slips to the ground.

Louis looks over. It’s his sweater.

-

Louis graduates from school with Zayn and Niall. Harry doesn’t attend his graduation ceremony.

-

“Pizza,” Niall moans as soon as the ceremony ends and they’ve finished handing out kisses and hugs to their friends and family. “As in, right now.”

“Lou’s driving,” Zayn says immediately, fishing around in the pockets of his jeans for his pack of cigarettes. “And buying.”

“I hate you both.” Louis tries to sound airy, but his voice has been all wrong lately. It shouldn’t be. How dare Harry Styles have any kind of effect on him? It wasn’t his fault Harry chose some stupid girl over him, his best friend since he was practically in nappies. Plus, Harry was almost sixteen and he could make his own decisions and so could Louis. If Harry wanted to fuck off, he’d gladly do so.

The three of them are too tired to talk on the ride to the nearest pizza place from their school. Zayn smokes out the window and Niall stretches out on the backseat, his eyes closed. Once they arrive, they find a booth and Zayn stubs out his cigarette and Louis rests his head on Niall’s shoulder and they wait for their pizza to come.

“This place smells like shit,” Niall notes.

“So do you,” Louis intelligently counters. He’d have said something clever if he weren’t too busy thinking of the last time he was here, with Harry. They’d both giggled and thrown bits of pineapple and ham at each other while trying to see who could eat the most pizza without stopping. Afterwards, Harry had licked pizza sauce off Louis’s cheek like a cat while Louis screamed and shoved a slice of pizza down the back of Harry’s shirt. They’d both gotten kicked out directly after that, of course. 

He wonders now why that’d even happened, if there’d been a reason for all those happy, joyous moments if it was all going to come down to this in the end. Whatever “this” was.

Their pizza comes, and the three of them tiredly eat. Zayn suddenly aims a sharp kick to Louis’s ankle and Louis yelps. “What?”

Zayn gestures to a table across the restaurant with a jerk of his chin. Louis follows his gaze and is immediately met with a painfully familiar pair of crystal green eyes.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, immediately looking back down.

“You guys still having a row?” Zayn inquires, staring intently at Louis. 

Louis shrugs and sneaks a peek back over at Harry. He sees that he’s with Cara, and she’s practically in his lap, purring and feeding him bits of pizza. He’s smiling dreamily up at her, almost like he’s in some kind of trance, as he playfully bites her finger and she giggles and reaches down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, her tongue flicking out to lap at some of the pizza sauce gathered there.

Louis has gone rigid.

“Yer starin’, mate,” Niall whispers gleefully in his ear. Louis huffs and stares back down at the table.

“Wow, he’s really into her, isn’t he, Lou?” Zayn observes, looking right at Louis while saying so.

Louis picks up his pizza and robotically rips off a chunk with his teeth. “I’m very happy for them, then. God bless them both and their future children.” 

Harry doesn’t look at him again. And if he does, Louis doesn’t see.

-

A year passes. Louis is at Uni.

Louis has always known the saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and he’s never really put much thought into it. Because if you knew someone who you were fond of, why would you want to be separate from them? What would convince you to leave them in the first place? If there’s anyone Louis wanted to be absent from, he probably wouldn’t be too fond of them anyway.

Louis carries on. He has a dorm room that he shares with Zayn, his absolute best mate, he’s studying English and he has a permit to buy alcohol and he goes to all the cool Uni parties and gets pissed off his arse and goes back to his dorm and sleeps off the booze. It’s a routine, and it works. He gets by.

For some reason, Zayn isn’t too fond of Louis “getting by”.

“You need to do something,” Zayn tells Louis. Louis is huddled under his blanket on the small twin bed he’s been given, curled up in a ball, while Zayn flitters around, getting ready for some hot date he has. 

“I am doing something,” Louis protests.

“Something that isn’t Uni during the day and drinking during the night. Hell, you need to do _somebody._ ” Zayn inspects himself in a mirror, petting his hair down neatly. Louis watches him. Zayn is dark and attractive and smart and deep and social and sophisticated and everything Louis really isn’t, but would really like to be.

“Not interested,” Louis says instead.

“Lou.” Zayn’s voice is suddenly soft. “Lou, it’s been literally over a year. You need to call him.”

“Him?”

“You know exactly who the hell I’m talking about.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be a certain Harry Styles, would it?” Louis says bravely, only wincing slightly as his name leaves his lips. 

“See. See, you still pull that face whenever you talk about him. Jesus, Louis, you _miss_ him, can’t you see? He was your best mate. You need to do something.”

“You’re my best mate,” Louis protests, blinking innocently up at Zayn. “All I’ll ever need is you.”

“Yeah, shut up.” Zayn rolls his eyes fondly at Louis, and the subject is dropped. But Louis doesn’t stop thinking.

-

A week later, Louis is sleeping soundly in his bed (Zayn is off again on another one of his dumb artsy party adventures) when he hears a knock on the door.

“Zayn, you have your own key,” he groans as loud as he can through his sleep-induced fog of bleariness. “Show yourself the fuck in.”

There’s another knock, louder, more insistent.

“Don’t you dare make me get off this bed, or I…” Louis is not good at being threatening. Especially at two in the morning. “I’ll do something. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“Louis,” someone calls through the door, a little desperately. Louis’s eyes fly open. “Louis, _please._ ”

Louis flings the door open.

Harry’s there in the corridor, with his hands clasped and his head bowed and tears flowing down his face. “God, Louis, just let me in.”

-

“Hey, sit down,” Louis says, closing the door behind them and flicking the light on. Harry’s tall as a giant, and he looks so out of place in Louis’s shabby dorm room. His heart is hurting, literal pain in his chest, just from looking at him – the familiarity of his facial features, the same flushed cheeks and dark curls sweeping over his forehead. Harry looks exactly the same and yet so, so different.

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, sinking down onto Louis’s bed, rubbing self-consciously at his nose. Louis dawdles around, thinking of something he can do for him because he _is_ crying and clearly distraught and it’s the middle of the night, so.

“Anything I can get you? I may have some, like, instant coffee mix of Zayn’s left over, but other than that I haven’t got much...”

“Just sit down, Louis.” Harry looks completely exasperated, his eyebrows pushed together in a serious line on his forehead as he trains those impossibly green eyes directly on Louis’s. 

Louis obeys, taking a seat next to Harry, a good two feet away from him, near the pillow. They look at each other, eyes raking over each other in a very non-subtle way, just drinking in the sight of each other. Louis looks at Harry and literally can’t believe his eyes – this boy, who he’d found almost thirteen years ago crying in a bush during playtime because he couldn’t find his coat, had somehow grown into a man, with long legs and a jawline seemingly cut from metal and plush lips and thick muscles sewn into his arms that could make anyone’s mouth water. 

“Well?” Harry suddenly says harshly, making Louis start. “Aren’t you gonna say it?”

“Gonna…gonna say what?” Louis asks in confusion.

“’ _I told you so._ ’” Harry rolls his eyes, attempting to look nonchalant, but his lip is wobbling in that way it always does when he’s holding something in. 

“What do you mean, Haz?” Louis questions as gently as he can, because Harry is quivering now and that’s never good.

The nickname had slipped out unintentionally, but the minute it does, Harry breaks.

“Shh,” Louis hums, awkwardly pulling Harry into his arms as he so often did before, except it’s weird now because Harry’s a good head or two taller than him and he’s basically an adult, and yet he’s buried into Louis’s chest like they’re both kids again. Harry’s arms wind around Louis hips, crushing them closer together as he successfully dampens the entire front of Louis’s shirt with his tears within minutes.

“Har-” Louis starts to say, but freezes in his words as he feels a pair of warm lips against the base of his neck.

Harry whispers a quiet “shh” as his mouth travels up the length of Louis’s throat, pressing delicate kisses to every inch of skin his mouth can find, holding Louis so close and so soft and Louis is literally close to hyperventilation now. He can feel the tickle of Harry’s eyelashes and the cool wetness of his tears against his neck as Harry leans to the side to gently suck on a patch of skin just underneath his jaw, pressing in with his teeth. Soft. Cautious. Passionate.

“What the hell are you doing,” Louis manages to gasp as Harry disconnects his mouth from Louis’s neck so he can pull back an inch, staring evenly into Louis’s eyes. There’s a fire in there that Louis has never, ever seen before in all these years he’s known Harry, and it’s endearing. When has Harry ever not been endearing? 

Harry doesn’t answer his question. Leaning dangerously close, he murmurs into Louis’s ear, “Louis, why did you leave me?”

“What?” Louis splutters indignantly, and Harry raises an eyebrow. “ME? I left you? I never left you, Harry.”

“Didn’t you?” Harry asks, ducking back down to brush his lips against the corner of Louis’s jawline slowly. Louis’s eyes roll back into his head a little. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“You’re the one…who left for your stupid girlfriend,” Louis manages to choke out, his breathing harsh and labored. 

“Hmm,” Harry hums against Louis’s jaw, lifting a hand to stroke at Louis’s cheek, the pads of his fingers leaving trails of white-hot fire against the skin. “Allow me to rephrase, then. Why the hell did you _let_ me?”

“Why…what…fuck…” Louis squeaks as Harry nips at his earlobe. “What the fuck do you…mean?”

Harry’s grip on Louis is suddenly tight. “You’re going to make me say it first, aren’t you?”

Louis blinks into the darkness, utterly dazed and confused.

“You…you stupid _bastard,_ ” Harry growls. “All these years, you’ve never once, not even for one fucking second, taken the time to stop and realize that I may have feelings for you? Feelings so strong that I myself didn’t know they were there? Are you that _daft?_ ”

Harry is looming over him again, his jawline taut (and distracting) and Louis feels like he’s been hit by a baseball bat. “I,” he says intelligently.

"It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid and I don't know why I thought it was a good idea at the time, but for some reason I did. I was always in love with you, Louis Tomlinson." Harry is looking at him like he's God. He isn't. "All of it was for you. To get your attention. I thought if I dated her, it'd make you jealous, or. Or." Harry laughs a little, shakes his head. Louis is counting his breaths in double-time. "I was so stupid."

Louis stares, because no. Things like this just don't happen to him. He is not a good-thing person. Obviously he is hallucinating.

Harry still continues his solemn monologue. "I didn't expect you to fucking _run_ away like you did. Not so fast, anyway. I wasn't prepared. I didn't have half the balls to just show up at your doorstep, get on my knees and properly beg for you the day you left."

"I'll bet you would," Louis can't stop himself from adding. "I'd like to have seen that. Shame."

Harry glowers. "Sorry. Continue," Louis says, trying not to smile. Harry notices, and his lips turn up at the corners.

"For a while," Harry says. "She was really all I had. Though I was lost, considering your absence, she was a constant. A source of familiarity. It comforted me to know that at least someone loved me, you know." Louis opens his mouth to speak, but Harry barrels forward before he can. "But, incredibly enough, she was cheating on me.” Harry smiles sadly. “I got to witness it first-hand. Apparently it’d been happening for a while, isn’t that just grand? And I just happened to walk in at the right time.”

Louis stares.

“And the funniest part is, right afterwards you know where I went? Right to your house, Louis. I basically parked in your driveway and more or less fell apart in my car. I tried to pretend like I wasn’t waiting for you to show up with one of your big sweaters and we could have a cuddle, but really, who am I kidding?” Harry coughs, flopping back down onto the pillow directly next to Louis’s face. His legs are still wrapped around Louis’s hips, tight and merciless. “It’s not like you still gave a single shit about me or my problems if you left me that easily, without even saying goodbye. All my life I’ve been crying to you for everything and you never let me leave until I was okay again, and the one time I was crying because of _you_ , you weren’t there. Irony bites, doesn’t it?”

“Disturbingly so,” Louis adds, the shaking in his voice marring his sarcasm. Thankfully, Harry smirks at his response.

They look at each other softly for a while before Louis speaks again. “I missed you, Haz. And you were wrong, that time. When you told me I was too scared of the possibility of rejection to give my heart away.” They both wince at the memory. “I wasn’t scared of rejection. I was scared of losing _you_.”

“Louis Tomlinson, _scared_?” Harry’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “What happened to ‘I’m Louis William Tomlinson and I’m six and I’m the bravest boy on the playground’?”

“Shut up,” Louis hisses. “At least I wasn’t the little lost baby boy hiding in the shrubs because of a bloody coat of all things.”

“Hey, I was a brilliant child.”

“Brilliant. You.” Louis scoffs. “You were blessed with your cuddly, innocent looks but cursed with the fact that you couldn’t last three milliseconds without crying.”

“Cuddly, huh?” Harry smiles with his pinkpinkpink lips. “Maybe we could have a cuddle now?”

Louis doesn’t even hesitate to wrap himself entirely around the younger boy, trying his best to ignore the tears prickling at the backs of his eyeballs. He hasn’t forgotten Harry’s previous words, about him having feelings for him all this time. _Maybe this could be the time. Maybe you should tell him now._

So Louis does.

“I love you,” he whispers into Harry’s hair, small tears trickling down his face. Disgustingly cliche. Louis loves this. "I'm no poet, and I haven't got even an inkling of the creativity you have and effort you put into spinning together that lovely speech, but I love you just as long as you have me. Perhaps for longer, if I'm being honest."

Louis can feel Harry’s huge Cheshire cat grin before he pulls away slightly to see it. And sure enough, it’s right there and as bright as ever. “Took you that long to say it, idiot?”

“Oi.” Louis gives Harry a smack on his bum. “I was going to tell you that day Cara yelled at you for ditching her at the park, but you ran off before I could get in a word.”

Harry blushes in embarrassment. "I...That never...I didn't want that to happen." He sighs. "She told me to stay away from you and I went with it because I was selfish. The whole time I was thinking, she's the only one who loves me. She's the only one who will truly care for me despite anything. Hilarious, innit? So I thought, might as well."

Louis feels paralyzed. "Oh, God. Don't ever say that. I'm here and I love you and you're never alone. You're _never_ alone."

Harry smiles gratefully, and then says, "So, what comes next?"

“Meaning?”

Harry tightens his arms around his boy, nosing at his cheek. “You gonna kiss me or what? Isn't that what happens in the movies?”

Louis’s cheeks explode into color and Harry gently kisses the pink spots in wonder. “Depends,” Louis says lightly. “You gonna leave me again for the next blond twig who comes skipping along?”

“Nah.” Harry winks and leans closer to Louis, his mouth at his ear as he whispers. “I’ll be honest, I’ve always sort of had a thing for brunettes with gorgeous eyes and massive bums.”

Louis squawks indignantly and Harry is laughing so hard the sound is ricocheting off the walls and Louis leans forward and kisses him hard, just to shut him up, and their noses smash together and their teeth clink and they’re both laughing and squirming impossibly closer to each other and melting into one being, one soul, and Harry whispers ever so softly into Louis's mouth, "I love you too", and Louis can feel it. That this is the way it’s supposed to be, all the time.

This is what it felt like to be complete.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: gumdroplou


End file.
